Tailor-Made
by Kitthalia
Summary: Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall have a hidden hobby. Both of them love to sew. The hum of the sewing machine that Severus inherited from his mother and the snick of Minerva's enchanted scissors are the sounds that they love. So what to do when Minerva discovers a student with less than adequate clothing, clothing too large and baggy, too worn and thin to be used?
1. Chapter 1

Tailor-made

Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall have a hidden hobby. Both of them love to sew. The hum of the sewing machine that Severus inherited from his mother and the snick of Minerva's enchanted scissors are the sounds that they love. When not teaching, the pair descend into their workroom to dream up fabulous clothes and fantastic designs. They work together with the ease of many years.

So what to do when Minerva discovers a student with less than adequate clothing, clothing too large and baggy, too worn and thin to be used?

S&M Tailoring to the rescue!

* * *

Severus was finally calm. As he deftly moved the scissors through the patterned fabric, he didn't need to dwell on the inane platitudes that the infuriating Albus Dumbledore insisted on saying, nor on the return of the students for the coming year. He had suffered through the opening speech with his usual blank face, even when forced to sit next to the stuttering Quirrel. Now, he didn't need to force it- he could finally breathe.

He didn't dislike students, per se, but they seemed at their most idiotic when he saw them at the beginning of a new year. Maybe he got used to them. They probably just calmed down after a week or two, when not hyped up on the meeting of old friends, the excitement of a new year, and the sugar consumed on the train ride. He had never understood why the long ride to the school included purchasable hyperactivity, and he knew that Poppy Pomfrey disliked the lack of nutrition found on the trolley as much as him, but the headmaster himself had a legendary sweet tooth. With a man like that in charge, constantly offering lemon drops with every meeting, he supposed that it was hopeless in opposing the sweets on the train.

Reaching the end of the fabric, he closed the scissors with a click. Some of his students were bearable, and there were a few that he even liked to have around. But right now he was simply happy to be away from the bustle and shrieks of sugar-induced excitement.

He picked up the fabric after placing the scissors carefully in their place on his worktable. You could never be too careful with fabric scissors, in his opinion. If they were placed in the wrong spot, some idiot would use them to cut paper, or, Merlin forbid, some sticky substance that would foul the blades and render them useless. Of course, that was not a problem anymore, with a specialised sewing room, but when he was in school some roommates had "borrowed" them without asking and returned them blunt as could be. It wasn't as if his scissors were self-sharpening like Minerva's, either. She had enchanted them herself, but he preferred to sew in the muggle fashion as much as possible. The magic used in the creation sometimes infused into the garments, which was annoying if you planned to add more magic afterwards. The combinations often turned out strange results.

A gather along the top, certainly, to help the fabric fall properly. Perhaps a little ribbon on the bottom? This sort of thing wasn't his forte, although he wasn't incapable. He would have to ask Minerva.

The sound of the door opening drew his attention back to the present. Minerva stood in the doorway, looking bemused. It was a highly amusing expression on her, in his opinion. With her eyebrows raised like that, it almost made him laugh. He instead stored the memory for future perusal. Maybe he should attempt to surprise her like this every so often.

Severus shook out the fabric. "Minerva? Is something wrong?" He only just stopped his smirk escaping.

Minerva, recalled to herself, closed her mouth, which had been slightly open, and shook her head briskly. "No, I suppose not. It's just that I haven't seen you… often… with that sort of project."

He raised an eyebrow at her, hardly concealing his mirth. Merlin, this was fun.

"What do you mean, this sort of project?"

She shook her head once more, coming properly into the well-lit room. "Well, Severus, it's, well…"

Placing the fabric on the table, he beckoned at her with a twitch of his fingers. "Yes?"

Minerva sat limply down on the nearest chair. "Doll's clothes, Severus? And pink floral, at that. I thought you would at least run to purple."

He looked down, but then gave up on his struggle not to smile. "Are you judging me incapable of creating such a garment? And to think I thought you had the highest confidence in me. It is a favour for my neighbour. Her granddaughter has been visiting, and I promised that I would make her feel welcome. She seems to think that I appear forbidding."

Minerva chuckled at that. "She thinks right."

He fake scowled at her. "Apparently the child took straight to me, and this is the result. It is her birthday in a week. And, as a matter of fact, I am not completely inexperienced in this matter. I just do not often have the occasion to create them at Hogwarts. Most of the students are past the age for such things."

Walking around the table, he took the seat opposite her, relaxing into the cushions. "Actually, I did want you to give me a little advice on this one. What do you think of some ribbon on the bottom of the skirt?"

Minerva took the fabric that he offered. "Well, ribbon never goes amiss in this sort of thing. How do you feel about your abilities to embroider flowers? Or you could applique them in a pinch, of course…"

After a session of doll's dress brainstorming, the pair retired back to the chairs to relax in front of the fire. The crackle of the shifting logs was the only sound for a few minutes, until Severus sighed.

"Do you have an idea for our project this term, Minerva?"

The older woman shook her head tiredly. "Not yet. Usually we are a little ahead of this, aren't we?"

He could only agree. They normally thought of ideas all through the holidays.

There was another companionable silence, which was broken only by Minerva's jaw-cracking yawn.

"Sorry, Severus, it's just getting late. Welcoming all the students is tiring too, you know."

"Yes, those insufferable brats. Your job of organising all the first-years is exhausting, I know. Nervous little things."

They lapsed into quiet again, Severus trying once more to think of a Project. They usually had one each term, to help them relax after teaching and marking, and on the weekends. Their Project was a garment, or a series of clothes, generally, in a specific style, for a specific purpose. Last year they had focused on combining fabrics with a Strengthening Solution to see if it increased the longevity and usability of the clothes. One memorable time they had reupholstered the entire staff room- curtains, cushions, chairs and all. It had been exhausting, with every teacher having their own opinion on how it should look and what colours they should use. But this time he had no ideas.

Minerva spoke again. "They're always nervous, but that's mostly due to all those rumours floating around about the Sorting. I believe the Weasley twins convinced their brother Ronald he would be fighting a troll."

Severus snorted at that. Of course they would. Those twins were demons-in-training.

"And Harry was simply quaking in his boots, even after they all knew that the Sorting was done by a hat. It was almost as if he didn't think the hat would sort him at all. Poor child, living with those horrible muggles…"

He straightened up. Harry? He knew of only one Harry. "Potter." He sneered.

Minerva glared at him. "Severus, he's just a child-"

"Pampered and spoilt as his beloved father, no doubt."

"- And I wish you wouldn't think of him solely like his father. You haven't even met the child, and you already have placed him in a little compartment in your mind. I know what James did to you was quite despicable some of the time-"

"You are quite right about that."

She ignored him righteously. "-but he isn't his father, and James did grow up in the end. I can't help but wonder how well Harry was treated by his relatives."

Severus remained silent, knowing that if he were to speak she would take offense at his comments about the boy. He valued her too much to antagonise her when she was like this.

Minerva leaned back in her chair, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "Severus, I have a damnable headache, and arguing is not going to help. I think I will go to bed."

Severus knew that he needed to do so as well. It was ridiculously late, and he had to deal with students the next morning, too. They would probably meet again tomorrow, anyway.

"Goodnight, Minerva."

"Goodnight, Severus."

* * *

Severus was once again tacking pink material together when Minerva walked into their sewing room. She moved until she was right next to him, watching him guide the fabric through the machine.

The comforting hum stopped as Severus reached the end of the seam and used a pair of embroidery scissors to snip the threads. Minerva took the opportunity to speak.

"Doll's clothes again, Severus? It's all you have been doing for the past two weeks." She could barely hide her smirk from him.

He frowned a little. "It's all I have to do at the moment. You can't say that you haven't been enjoying it for a change, Minerva."

Minerva had to admit that it was better than nothing, and it was interesting to think in terms of a small child's fabric choices. Their Project was still non-existent.

"Well, I suppose that it hasn't been too bad. But come to think of it, why are you making so many?"

He scowled at her, placing his elbows down on the table. "That dastardly child had the nerve to love my birthday gift, and has commissioned me to make more. She wants some for her friend, as well."

Minerva couldn't help herself- she laughed. Severus Snape, bat of the dungeons and maker of doll's clothes for adoring little girls.

"This is the last of the lot, though. After that I don't know what we'll do."

There was silence as Minerva moved to pick up her embroidery hoop, then sat down beside him.

After a few minutes of companionable quiet Minerva opened her mouth. She knew that she had to approach this with delicacy, but could think of no other way to start the cogs turning in Severus's brain.

"I think that I may have found us a Project."

Severus lifted his head immediately.

"Yes? What is it?"

She could only smile at his feigned nonchalance.

"Severus, I'm not entirely sure that it will work as a Project yet. I'm just gathering my suspicions at the moment."

Minerva could tell that she had caught his attention with that. Slytherins were easy to intrigue, with just a hint of a mystery piquing their interest.

Of course, it helped that she wasn't quite ready to tell him outright her mission with this particular Project.

As Severus leaned back in his chair, he raised his eyebrow at her.

"Spill the beans, Minerva, as I'm sure my dear students would say."

Minerva stifled a laugh at that. Severus was always amusing when he wanted to know something. He never gave up until he had every last detail. Even when you thought you were safe he was often able to wriggle details out of you.

"Well, I suppose I should give you an outline of what I have noticed and what I plan to do. Or rather, what I think we should do."

He was rolling his eyes at her. Minerva knew him well enough to know that, even though she was focussing on a stitch in her hoop. Or actually, pretending to.

"There is a student I have seen, whose clothes are completely inadequate, and I'm sure that his home situation is as well. It's neglect, I'm sure. His uniform is fine; you know that they have to buy them from Madame Malkins. But he never wears anything else, and his sneakers are extremely tatty. I caught a glimpse of what was under his robes once and it was all tatty, baggy muggle clothes. I thought that perhaps we could work to outfit him properly. It's perfect timing, as well. Christmas is in the coming holidays, and I am sure that whatever we come up with would be a far better gift than what his guardians might give him."

Minerva paused to catch her breath and gauge Severus's reaction. He appeared completely impassive. She would have to sell it to him.

"It would be a good Project. Firstly, it would help another person-"

Severus snorted at this.

"Yes, Severus, I am well aware that you are incapable of generosity. Hence the dolls clothes that you slave over. The boy needs it, too. And of course it would be a challenge. He needs to be fully outfitted, all clothes, casual robes, muggle clothes, a cloak, you know. The whole wardrobe. We would probably have to weave growth charms in, and it would be an opportunity to use what we developed last year with the potion-enhanced cloth and the embroidered runes. Strength, durability, the lot."

Severus was frowning at her slightly, and Minerva hadn't the faintest clue why.

"Severus, what-"

"Why are you selling it so much? You are almost too enthusiastic, too desperate."

Minerva didn't quite know what to say, so she remained quiet. Trust a Slytherin to pick up on that.

"There's a catch, isn't there? Now all I have to do is work out what it is."

The rest of his sentence went unsaid. He could do that, or she could just come out and tell him.

Problem is, she had no idea how he would react.

"Fine. You got me. There is a catch. Only, it's not a catch for me so much as for you."

He looked at her askance, absentmindedly fiddling with the pink fabric with his hands.

Damn it, all he would have to do to find out was wait. He had always been good at this. Too good in her opinion.

"Oh, fine. Stop pretending not to care. It looks exceedingly false, and I know you too well to fall for it. Really, for a Slytherin, you are too easy to read."

Severus smirked at her. "Well, Minerva, no one else can read me. I scare them too much. Stop trying to change the subject. It doesn't work on me. Your procrastination is pathetic."

She could hardly believe herself. Minerva actually whined, "Severus…"

That bastard was enjoying himself. "Minerva."

They sat there for a minute, looking at each other. Then Minerva broke.

"You don't like the student. Or rather, you think you don't like the student. It's silly of you, really."

Severus pulled an exasperated face. "Right. Hurry up, I would like to actually get something done this evening."

Minerva wasn't pouting. She never pouted. "It's... It's a first year. In my house."

He gestured at her with his hand, telling her to carry on.

"Haven't you realised yet? Harry Potter. I've said it now. Harry Potter, and just because of your feud with his father you have immediately labelled him as someone to detest and ignore as much as possible. Holding on to a grudge just because he resembles his father is quite petty, you know, and you have only known him for a few weeks, which is hardly enough time to get a handle on his character."

Minerva finished her speech with a flourish, relishing the expression on her companion's face. It was a strange mixture of confusion, ire and disbelief.

She rose from her chair with as much dignity as she could muster while trying desperately not to laugh, and departed from the room to let him fume in peace. Severus had a nasty habit of taking his tantrums out on bystanders, and she would prefer to avoid this as much as possible.

He would accept it in the end. Perhaps grudgingly, but it wasn't as if he had any other ideas for their Project.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was exhausted. The past week had seemed overly long to him, and he couldn't wait to collapse into his four-poster bed. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to do so for hours yet. He had only had his morning classes so far, the herbology class being physically strenuous as they quite literally tackled the grumpy sunflowers that Sprout had recently gained. They were exceedingly snobbish and refused to have anyone touch them, so the first-years had to wrestle them down while they tried to repot and water them.

The charms class after that had also been more tiring than usual, with Flitwick announcing cheerfully to the bedraggled class that he thought that they should be tested on their charm for swirling water. Harry hadn't any idea why he should have to learn something so useless, and had been finding it very difficult to get the water in his bowl to move even a little. On one occasion he had resorted to stirring it with his finger so that Hermione Granger didn't offer to show him how to do it in her bossy fashion. Even Ron had managed to get it to move. Professor Flitwick had looked at Harry with such a disappointed look that Harry felt his stomach drop a little and had lowered his head so not to meet the diminutive man's eyes. He was the only one in the class not to have gotten any result by the end of the period.

And now, he was at lunch, trying to keep his eyes open while on one side Dean chatted with Seamus and on his other Ron ate with his usual speed. Hermione Granger's voice drifted down the table from where she was waxing on to an uncaring Lavender Brown about the virtues of charming potions to mix clockwise versus physically stirring them, and Harry's head ached from the piercing nature of her voice. He wished that she would just shut up, and could understand why none of the other Gryffindor first years could stand her. He felt a tiny sliver of remorse at that thought, being one of those excluded during his primary school years because of Dudley and his gang, but it soon disappeared because of the pain in his head and his exhaustion.

Harry just had to wait until after dinner until he could relax on his bed- he had homework but it could wait, and he needed the rest…

"Harry!"

A sharp elbow jabbed him in the ribs.

Harry straightened up abruptly from his stupor, scowling at Ron.

"What was that for? That hurt!"

Ron rolled his eyes at him. "Harry, they're staring at you! I thought you might like to know." He shovelled a forkful of mashed potato into his mouth. "'Nape looks like he's got it out for you."

Suddenly more awake, Harry's eyes shot towards the staff table. There, glowering at the world in general and Harry in particular, Snape sat. He was looking like he would like to murder someone, preferably Harry.

Seeing that Harry had noticed him, Snape's eyes flashed murderously but he continued to stare coldly at the young boy.

Harry swallowed nervously and turned to Ron, black eyes burning into the back of his head.

"Ron, I haven't done anything. Have I?"

His mind spun frantically, trying to remember what apparent offense he had committed. He hadn't had Potions yet this week, and he hadn't run into the man that he knew of.

Ron snorted, clattering his fork against his now-empty plate. "Harry, he doesn't need a reason to look that way for you, remember?"

Harry silently agreed that Snape always seemed to have a distinct dislike for him, but this seemed to be more than that.

"Yes, but - I don't know- it seems more intense than usual, Ron. Wait..."

Ron obligingly didn't say anything, tracing circles on his plate with his fork.

"You said they. Who else is staring at me?"

"Mate, it's McGonagall. Course, she doesn't look quite so ready to kill."

Harry looked, and indeed McGonagall was watching him steadily with a pensive look on her face.

Trying not to shrink down, Harry attempted to ask unobtrusively, "Why are they watching me?"

Ron's reply was less than helpful. "Dunno."

Then he snorted again. "It's like a bloody love triangle."

Harry's face turned a brilliant red, and he squeaked out a "Ron", in admonishment. He couldn't find any words in him to rebut.

Ron was chortling away, laughing soundlessly to Harry's unspoken thanks. If any of the others heard…

After his indignant speechlessness had passed, Harry crossed his arms defensively and said, "Well, I don't think that's the reason. Shut up."

Ron managed to calm himself, and forcibly maintained a straight face.

"Harry, we've got potions next. We might find out. He'll confess his undying love for you in front of the class, then get you to scrub out fifty cauldrons if you protest."

Then he sobered a little. "He'll probably just sneer at you like he always does and take more points than usual."

Harry could only agree. He just wanted to crawl into bed and fall asleep, only to wake up without anyone to bother him, but he forced himself to stand with Ron and walk out of the Great Hall. He would worry about the staring later.

* * *

Severus Snape was furious.

He hadn't had any time whatsoever in the past week or so to relax. Albus bloody Dumbledore had kept pestering him with increasingly inane tasks, ones that could be postponed indefinitely but he felt "ought to be done now, my dear boy. Toodle-oo".

The chatter of the students had grown incrementally each day as Halloween approached, and he dreaded the hyperactivity of his Slytherins as they would bounce around his common room for days after the feast. Halloween had never been a good time for him, what with all the memories associated with the day. The advent of excited students and orange-and-black themed decorations always threatened to do his head in. This year, it seemed worse than ever.

The feast itself gave him a headache, and Albus' chatter did not help, as he pointed out how much the students enjoyed the date. At least Minerva had refrained from talking to him, sensing and understanding his mood. She had sent him a sympathetic smile, and he was grateful for her silence.

His headache had peaked when Quirrel had entered the hall, and now, as he limped out of the forbidden corridor towards the commotion he heard in the floor below, he cursed Hagrid and his bloody dog. Three heads, indeed. _His_ contribution had at least been subtle, and demanded something that not anyone could just walk past. Any fool could research how to get past a Cerberus.

His thoughts on fools were only magnified when the shrieking became louder. And then suddenly stopped.

He hardly spared a glance at Minerva, who had appeared at his side, as they rushed towards where the noise had been coming from.

Severus panted heavily, despising his weakness. That fool dog… He rounded a corner and stopped short.

There, standing dumfounded just inside a girl's bathroom, was Potter.

Severus didn't spend long taking in the scene, noting only the presence of two other first years, the bushy-haired know-it-all and the red-head that ate a ridiculous amount of food. And an unconscious mountain troll on the floor.

Potter seemed to be fine, with no apparent injuries, except a scratch or two. He was swaying a little, but Severus put that down to causes other than blood loss.

Damn fool of a boy…

His robes were falling off him, and the baggy and worn clothes underneath were extremely dirty.

Wait. Clothes.

Minerva… that woman was right. The boy's clothes were hardly fit for a tramp.

Then again, it was probably just a passing fad. The boy was just like his father, always falling into some new and ridiculous style.

Of course, the Weasley boy's clothes, along with the Granger girl's, didn't seem in danger of falling off. But he pushed that thought away.

 _Focus, Severus._

"… But Harry and Ron saved me, I didn't realise that they were so dangerous, I thought I could deal with it…"

What was that girl saying? That couldn't possibly be true. The girl hadn't even been at the feast to begin with.

Severus held his tongue, watching silently as the two boys agreed with her story. Of course, it was patently false, but he didn't think Minerva would see that. Or Quirrel.

Quirrel? Severus narrowed his eyes. What was he doing there? The man must have appeared behind him and Minerva as they took in the devastation wrought by the troll.

It was no matter. Quirrel obviously hadn't succeeded in his mission. The stone was safe, Harry Potter was safe, albeit _receiving points_ for acting like a reckless idiot. But then that was the kind of thing that Minerva would do, occasionally, just to reassure herself that she was a Gryffindor.

He glared at the boy one last time before vanishing to his rooms. He was ready for bed, though he knew he wouldn't sleep, not after the dog bite and Harry Potter and the troll.

Foolish child.


	3. Chapter 3

"Severus? Are you there?"

The voice drifted through his closed door. Damn the woman, couldn't she just leave him alone?

"Severus, I thought that we were going to meet today. Are you ill? I could fetch Madam Pomfrey…"

Moving quickly, he jumped out of the armchair where he had been slouching and rushed to open the door.

"Minerva, no! I don't need that god-forsaken mediwitch!"

After a moment of panic, he registered her smirking face and growled.

"Thanks for opening the door so promptly, Severus. I was starting to think that you weren't in there."

"Minerva McGonagall, I don't need your blasted Gryffindor manipulations. I just wanted a little time alone, and didn't feel like sitting in a room trying to decide what to make."

She looked at him shrewdly, albeit with a little concern. "Severus Snape, you were moping, weren't you?"

Severus shook his head shortly. "No. I do not mope, Minerva. Cease that thought immediately."

"Come on, Severus, admit it. You look like you've got a dark cloud hanging over your head. What's wrong?"

He sighed, and opened the door further, letting her in. They sat down together, Severus leaning his elbows on his knees to prop up his head with his hands.

"Severus, by Merlin, you look like a moody teenager."

"Thanks, Minerva, for that flattering image." He sighed, and closed his eyes for a long second. "I am exceedingly tired, and Albus has been trying to get me to replace all of the stock in the infirmary for some reason, despite the fact that none of it is out of date yet. Of course, there is a slight decline in effectiveness after a while, but not enough so as to make them useless."

Minerva nodded, commiserating. Then she frowned. "It can't only be that. You have been acting like a bear with a stung paw recently, so much so that the younger years can hardly stand to be in the same room with you."

He rolled his eyes. He didn't much like being in the same room as them, either.

"Look, I don't know. It's just- well- you were right."

Minerva's eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?"

"You were right, and I can't see how!"

"What are you talking about, Severus? Although it is nice to have you recognise me for once, it is rather confusing what you are talking about.

"The boy, Minerva, the boy!"

She began to have an inkling of where this was going. "What boy, Severus?"

"That confounded Harry bloody Potter, that's who!"

Minerva tapped her fingers on the armrest. "No need to be crass, Severus. I suppose that explains your sulking, then."

"Minerva-"

"Yes, I am aware that you do not sulk, young man. But what else would you call this?"

He was silent. That woman had always known how to push his buttons.

"Severus, I know that the Potters have always been a sore spot for you. But if you can accept that you were wrong at least slightly about Harry's situation, it is a good start."

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he had to admit to himself that, yes, he did accept that he needed to reconsider his thoughts on the boy.

"Minerva, I admit that I may have been mistaken as to his situation. His clothes do, as you said, reflect a less than satisfactory home situation. It is either that or a severe lack of taste, and the boy is not yet old enough to consider buying himself clothes to match the latest trend."

He closed his mouth for a moment, and Minerva smiled.

"However, that does not mean that I believe the boy is any less of an attention-seeking idiot. My view of his personality has not changed with my view of his home life, so do not bother blathering on about how wonderful he is in front of me, if you please."

"Whyever would I do that, Severus? Unlike Pomona, I can tell when a person is stubbornly fixated on something and has to change their mind of their own accord. Don't worry, I will merely attempt to present you with sufficient evidence to the contrary until you change your mind."

Severus felt like banging his head against a wall but refrained, instead straightening his posture in an attempt to appear more at ease with the situation. He did feel slightly better, now that he had gotten it off his chest, but he had the feeling that his friend would tease him mercilessly.

"So, does this mean that you will aid me in my idea for a Project, then? I assure you that the boy does not need to know that it is you or me giving him the clothes. It would be good for him to stop looking like a scarecrow, as well- it reflects badly on the school."

Severus rolled his eyes. "I don't know what that last comment is supposed to mean, Minerva, considering that this is a boarding school, which means that parents can ship their little brats off to us and feel glad of the fact that they do not have to see them for months. The boy isn't old enough to leave the grounds to go to Hogsmeade, and there aren't any visitors from the public."

Making a slight moue of distaste, Minerva dismissed his words. "If we make them right, it will make the job of looking after him a lot easier, as well. Considering the trouble he has already managed to get himself into, perhaps it would be for the best."

Despite himself, Severus found that he was considering it. Perhaps he could place a tracking charm on the garments, and make it so that he was alerted somehow whenever the boy went out of bounds. That would be difficult, but he could research ways of attuning an object to another. If he linked the objects, perhaps the garments and a piece of paper… He could surely adjust the charm that sailors, cartographers, and explorers used which showed the exact position of the person casting it, and ensure that it showed the location of the linked object onto the paper. The charm's use of longitude and latitude would need to be changed to describe with words rather than coordinates…

Shaking his head to come back to the present, Severus noticed that his friend was smiling knowingly at him.

"Good. I'm glad that you have decided. Now that you are no longer sulking, I am sad to leave, but it is getting late and I have some marking that I have neglected. Goodnight."

She had gotten to her feet while she was talking, and she quickly made her way over to him and gave him a brief hug, then scurried out the door.

Severus sat there dumbfounded for a moment, then stood up with a sudden moment and strode to the door. He couldn't see her, though, so he said softly to the chill night air;

"I never said that I would do it, Minerva…"

After a minute of staring blankly out into the empty corridor, he lifted a hand and rubbed his face, closing his eyes for a long moment. He then gently closed the door and sat down in his chair once more.

Perhaps instructive novels for parents of toddlers would have spells that created an alarm for whenever a child went near danger. Of course, if he used only that he would be hearing alarms every time the boy went near a knife, a hot object, or something he could fall off. Potion classes would cause it to be going off constantly, and whenever the boy flew, he could only imagine the noise.

Where there books on pet-handling that had charm-cheats for leash spells? Boundary spells? Could a piece of clothing be charmed not to go to a certain place? If he could make it so that they couldn't be forced to move anywhere near the third-floor corridor, his life would be easy. Of course, finding that his clothes wouldn't move, the boy might be likely to go starkers if he had to. Gryffindors were that sort.


	4. Chapter 4

Saturday meant that Severus was dragged out of his rooms at an unlawful time by an enthusiastic Minerva McGonagall. He had been planning on resting for an hour or so longer than he usually would, due to the exhaustive nature of his week, but the godforsaken woman took it upon herself to rouse him out of bed by six-thirty.

While hot water cascaded over his head, he reflected that he should probably be glad that she hadn't felt obliged to lay out his clothes for him. She had gotten him his strong brew of tea, though, and that would help to wake him up.

They breakfasted together with the food on the tray that Minerva had brought, on a little-known balcony that overlooked a hidden courtyard filled with half-finished statues and wild grasses. The chill in the air woke Severus further, but the scalding tea warmed his fingers. It was a queer sensation, as it seemed almost as if they were the only two people that remained in the world. Secure in their companionship Minerva and Severus stood together, the few rays of sunlight making patterns on the cool stone and frosted grass.

When they reached their sewing room, Minerva sat at the empty table they used for designing and cutting patterns, while Severus walked the length of the room, reflexively straightening the items on the shelves that he passed. Returning, he stopped right in front of Minerva.

"We don't have any of the boy's measurements."

Minerva looked up at him smugly. "I owled Veronica Malkin and she sent them to me." She produced a piece of paper out of her robe. "None of the first-years unfamiliar with the wizarding world really go anywhere else, as her shop is so easy to find."

Severus rolled his eyes. Of course the woman would find a way around all the obstacles that he might be able to dream up.

"So, what do you think he will need? We can always do more in the next term as well, remember."

How could that woman think that he would want to make more clothes for the brat after already outfitting him?

"No."

Minerva had had knowing little smile on her face that was especially infuriating. "Hmm… We'll see. Now, he already has the ordinary black robes, and the cloak. I'm guessing that he only got the minimum required, so he will probably need a heavy winter cloak as well. He wasn't raised traditionally, so he would wear clothes under his robes as well, not an under-robe. Perhaps we could make him one, and also replace his muggle-style clothes he wears underneath. How's that to start: an underrobe or two, a winter cloak, and some new muggle clothes?"

Severus only blinked at her, overwhelmed. When Minerva was enthusiastic, she was _enthusiastic_.

"Look, Minerva, why can't the boy just buy his own-"

"Forgive me, Severus, if I want to do something nice for someone else. I know that nice isn't in your vocabulary, but somehow it is in mine. Deal with it."

He knew that it had been a last-ditch attempt, anyway. And, well, being snapped at by Minerva was distinctly unpleasant, as she could tear strips off him and they both knew it. Severus gave in.

"A winter cloak to start then, if you please, Minerva. I need something interesting, not just plain sewing like on muggle-style clothes, if you are going to convince me to undertake this project.

They both knew that he was already going to go through with it, but occasionally Minerva liked to give him the pretence that he was in control, even when he wasn't.

Minerva, searching in the drawer under the table for a pencil, conjured a large piece of paper. "A cloak should probably have some sort of warming charm in it, and maybe something to repel water and snow."

Severus nodded, and accepted the pencil she gave him. "A version of _impervious_ , perhaps. Dirt-repelling, as well. Heaven knows that the boy needs it."

She snorted at him. Did she think that he was joking?

He twirled the pencil in his fingers. "The water and dirt-repelling will be easy enough- just more of those charms we developed for the staff room cushions. I still cannot believe that we needed to consider that then."

Minerva frowned at him, and said, "It was only because Pomona never quite remembered to clean up after a long day, and because Trelawney, the drunken fraud, kept slopping her firewhisky. Oh, and Filius would insist on levitating the teacups to him, and they would spill whenever he had to get them out of the way of someone… Alright, I concede that they were absolutely necessary, and absolutely shameful as well."

"Strength and durability runes embroidered on the inside?"

"Yes, of course- Severus, if they were on the outside they might fade."

"And we need to find another rune for warming, or at least a long-lasting charm. Self-regulating temperature- there must be a spell for that."

Minerva began to sketch out a basic design, and Severus dragged his chair closer to her so he could interject- a boy would need a lot of pockets, to keep things in, and, no, the lining shouldn't be a contrasting colour because he was sure that there was some connection between the colour of the thread they would use to embroider the runes and their effectiveness. Then he stopped abruptly and stiffened.

"Remembered who you were making this for, Severus?" She smirked at him. "Don't get too excited- it's for Mr Potter, not for you."

Much to her surprise, Severus smirked back.

"Minerva, I do believe that I should begin to focus on spells to keep him out of trouble rather than how to keep him warm. I shall develop a way of having this cloak record every time he breaks a rule or does something foolhardy, and he shall receive punishment for it, rather than simply getting away with it, or even getting rewarded for it." He rubbed his hands together in a faux-evil way, with a wicked grin on his face. "He will never venture out-of-bounds again."


	5. Chapter 5

By the afternoon, they had sketched out a design for the cloak that both of them were happy with, and had a list of enchantments they wanted to incorporate into it. Minerva had acquiesced to having a way to track the boy through the garment, but had remained steadfast in her position that it was not to be activated unless it truly was an emergency. Severus would be taking care of that part, as he had already been researching ways to show the position of something that was linked to another object.

They had had an argument about whether it was unethical to have something that would alert them whenever the child went somewhere he wasn't supposed to, or got into some kind of danger. Minerva thought that it was an invasion of his privacy, for all that it would be useful, and had favoured something along the lines of a panic button, which the boy would use to alert them when he felt he was in danger. On the other hand, Severus was completely against the idea that Harry Potter would know when it was appropriate to let an adult know that he was in danger, especially considering his track record with the troll. Eventually, they settled the dispute since a _cloak_ would have no way of knowing whether the child was in danger or not, and Severus resigned himself to the panic button.

As they walked down the corridor that led to the staff common room, Severus was considering the trip that he had said he would make on Monday afternoon. After his sixth-year potions class, he would be going to London to buy an appropriate fabric, as well as any other accoutrements that were needed. They had decided that they would have to find clasps at a later date, as they both wanted to be there to decide the style, and to ask questions about their enchantability.

The problem with the trip was that if any of the other teachers found out he was going they would be sure to ply him with little requests. He would end up lugging myriad things back to Hogwarts. As one of the youngest members of the staff, he did get asked to do that sort of thing more often than he should.

As they slipped quietly into the room, he noticed that all the other members of staff were there already. He had hoped that they wouldn't be the last ones there, because Dumbledore detested lateness, and always exacted a terrible revenge on anyone late to staff meetings.

"Severus, Minerva! How kind of you to join us. We were just discussing the supervision of the upcoming Hogsmeade trip. I believe that it is your turn, is it not?"

They sat in their seats at the discussion table, Severus with an air of defiance. The Christmas Hogsmeade trip- full of hyperactive wet children and frantic bustling shoppers- was a cruel and unnecessary reprimand for being a little late to a meeting where nothing much would be accomplished anyway.

Minerva rolled her eyes slightly and nodded, with a "Yes, Albus." Severus stayed sullenly silent. Hopefully Albus would let it go.

"Severus? Did you want to do the one on Valentine's day as well?"

He lifted his head up quickly to glare at the headmaster. "What? No, I-"

"How kind of you to volunteer, my boy. Put that down, Filius, if you would. Minerva and Severus on the Christmas one, and Severus on Valentine's Day as well."

Obligingly, the Charms professor inscribed their names on the sheet of paper where he was recording the minutes.

"Severus, will you oblige? Or do we need to have a chat in my office, later?"

Severus clenched his hands in his lap and said with forced calm, "No. I will supervise the trips if that is your wish, headmaster."

There was a moment of rather awkward silence as Severus brooded and the rest of the teachers carefully ignored the tension between him and the headmaster.

"Right, then. Have there been any issues with the students, recently? As we get closer to the holidays, they do tend to get a bit rowdier, but has there been anything major?"

As Filius expounded on the raucousness of the Weasley twins, Severus tuned out and slouched down in his chair, letting his hair fall to cover his face a little. He hated staff meetings.

A half hour later, he was brought out of his doze by Minerva's prodding of his side. He straightened his posture and tried to look as though he knew what was being discussed. They were all looking expectantly at him, and he didn't know why.

Minerva gave a rather fake-sounding cough, and said pointedly, "I don't expect Severus has been having any issues with his House, as they have all been quite well behaved in my classes."

He shot a smile at her gratefully. "My regular meetings with my prefects have assured me that there doesn't seem to be rebellion stirring in their little hearts at the moment, and the last Slytherin House Meeting was surprising in its uneventfulness. I haven't any new issues."

Pomona shook her head, her wild hair flying everywhere. "But what about those first-year boys, Goyle, and Crabbe? They were feeding the flowers they were looking after to the Galumphing Grompner the other day."

Pushing his hair back from his eyes, he said wryly, "I haven't had any new issues, Pomona. I assure you that I have been aware of the problem for a while now, and I am dealing with them. I have been trying to get them involved in a study group for a few weeks now, and have been semi-successful. I have also attempted to separate them from Mr Malfoy, who seems to do all their thinking for them."

"Well, if you are sure it is under control…"

"It is, thank you."

Dumbledore clapped his hands together at that, his eyes twinkling. "Well, that seems to be just about everything. Irma assures me that there have been no troubles in the library, and Argus tells me that there is nothing, and I quote, "more troublesome than that bucket of pixies on Thursday," which was dealt with admirably, so we might as well wrap up. Any last-minute things?"

Yes, there was something, Severus just didn't want to let everyone know. "Headmaster, I will be leaving the school briefly on Monday afternoon, and I just wished to let you know. I don't have any patrols, but my scheduled office time will be moved to start an hour later."

The older man inclined his head, saying, "That will be fine. Where are you going, if I may ask?"

Severus sighed. He had hoped to avoid this question. "I am going to London, sir."

The onslaught came as he expected.

"Severus, be a dear, and buy me another two sacks of Pentin's Patented Potting mix from Griselda's Gardens. I have some more on order, but they're not coming until next week, and my second-years have used it all."

"Oh, could you do me a favour, and take a small detour to Maximillian's. They would have just got a new shipment of food for my creatures, but they don't send it by owl as it is too heavy."

Minerva conjured a piece of paper and a quill so he could write it all down.

The headmaster, inevitably, brightened, and asked, "My dear boy, if it isn't too much trouble, please pop into a muggle sweet-shop and get me whatever catches your fancy?"

Writing down _get Albus sugar_ , he replied, "Of course, Headmaster."

A bunch of lazy interferers, the Hogwarts staff were. Thinking again, he had to include himself in that. Only the interfering part, of course...


	6. Chapter 6

Harry _knew_ that they were looking at him again.

It didn't seem to be in the same way, though, with Snape. Snape seemed to be looking at Harry in a way that seemed somehow ridiculously intense, as if every part of him was being scrutinised and analysed. Much to Harry's surprise, the angry disgust that seemed to characterise the man's interactions with Harry didn't seem to be present.

Ron didn't seem to notice this time, thankfully. For a few days after the previous time he would start shaking with laughter every once in a while when he thought about the supposed _love triangle_. It had gotten to be very annoying for Harry.

Harry propped his head on his hands and gazed at the enchanted ceiling, which was clouding over. He did not want to think on why he was always the subject of contemplation, even now, so late in the term that all the students who had been initially very excited to see the real _Harry Potter_ had stopped gawking at him every time he passed and only considered him to be another annoying first-year.

On his left, Hermione was chatting with Ron about the mystery of the parcel-that-was-nearly-stolen-but-wasn't. Ron had come up with the moniker, and it seemed to Harry that wizards perhaps appreciated hyphens a little too much. Hermione, in a way that seemed sensible to Harry, was arguing that because it was such a small thing that it could fit into Hagrid's pockets, it probably wasn't Merlin's staff, or the rod of Taukney-Iber. However, Ron was adamant that Hagrid's pockets were probably as big as the rest of him, and was Harry really sure that the parcel was small?

They gazed intently at him, and Harry, startled out of his unfocused gaze at the sky, fumbled for a second before telling them that it really had been that small. Measuring with his hands, he said, "Probably about the size of a squished cricket ball if it were square."

Ron, of course, had absolutely no idea what that meant.

"Why would you make a ball of crickets? How would it stay together- do you play with them like snowballs?"

In what seemed like an uncharacteristic way, Hermione didn't bother trying to explain, but nodded to Harry. Great.

"Err… Cricket's a game… there's sort of like a team of beaters that hit the ball one at a time to make runs and the other team has to get the ball and return it to the stump, so they can't run too many times. Or something like that."

Ron was looking more confused than ever. "Why are they running?"

Harry didn't really know. He suspected that if he asked Ron why the snitch was worth 150 points and ended the game rather than having a time limit the red-haired boy would tell him it was because "that's the _rules_ , Harry." He was quite tempted to reply in that manner, but Hermione solved his dilemma for him.

Grabbing the handle of her heavy bag, she stood up, and told them briskly, "There is half an hour left of the lunch break, so that means we have half an hour for us to look everything up in the library."

Ron, used to her by now, grabbed a couple of strawberry tarts and didn't bother protesting as he stood up. Harry didn't either. He was quite relieved that he wouldn't have to explain cricket any more- perhaps he could find a book on it. Although most wizards seemed startlingly confused when confronted with muggle things, so maybe there wouldn't be. Harry suspected that whatever there was, it could hardly be worse than his own understanding, as he had spent most of sport-time running away from the balls that Dudley and his gang seemed to accidentally throw towards him even when the class wasn't playing dodgeball.

* * *

In the library, they headed towards an empty table that sat next to a window overlooking the grounds. It was a little colder, as the glass didn't keep the cold air outside very well, but it meant that it was easier for them to read, because the library wasn't very well lit.

Hermione settled down with her latest pile of books, a series not unlike muggle encyclopaedias that covered "Modern Magical Innovations- from 1750 to the present." Harry personally thought that anything invented in the eighteenth century didn't classify as _modern_ , but that was the wizarding world for you. It seemed that they all lived longer than muggles, the way Ron talked about his harridan of a great-aunt Muriel, who was actually his father's great-aunt.

After flicking through one of the encyclopaedias (1800-1850), Ron turned back to Harry, who was perusing "What your grandmother hid in her attic: a guide to arcane magical artefacts," which he thought just might mention something likely to be guarded by a three-headed dog.

"Harry," he whispered, "You know that cricket thing- you didn't tell me why they were running."

Heaving a sigh, Harry whispered back, "They run because it's part of the game."

"But what are they running from?"

Why was he doing this, again? "It's how they score points- they have to run a certain distance, and they get a point if they do it. It's like scoring goals- they need to run more times than their opponent to win."

Ron nodded, still looking confused. "I see. They aren't running away but they are just running because if they don't they will lose."

"Close enough."

Turning the page, Harry tried to become more interested in the book, but somehow reading about enchanted snuff-boxes wasn't holding his attention.

He gazed out the window onto the deserted grounds, telling himself that if he gave himself a break, he would be able to concentrate better afterwards. Harry wished it would just snow. The air was dense, almost heavy, and bitterly cold. There was a sense of anticipation in the air, and Harry admitted that he kind of wanted to experience playing in the snow with his friends. Dudley had enjoyed pelting Harry with snowballs, and making forts with his friends, but Harry had never been able to throw any back at him for fear of retribution.

"Harry…"

It was Ron again. Hermione gave a small disapproving sniff without her eyes leaving the page.

"Harry, why is it called cricket?"

He stifled a groan.

"I don't know. It has nothing to do with the insect, though. Why is quidditch called quidditch?"

Ron closed his book. "It's named after the place it originated in, Queerditch Marsh." He looked as if he was ready to enjoy a monologue on the history of Quidditch. "In-"

Hermione cut him off with a hissed, "We are meant to be reading. Have you found out what was in the parcel?"

"Err…"

"No, you haven't. If you can't read at least be quiet, and if you can't do that go and chat somewhere else, but if you do that I don't think much of your dedication to finding out the mystery."

Harry knew that Hermione was clever, but this surprised him. She could clearly see what would motivate Ron. By reminding him of the mystery, of the intrigue, he wouldn't get distracted- well, not as much, anyway.

Ron, with a disgruntled noise, opened his book again, but Harry had had an idea.

"Hermione…"

This time, she closed her book with a brisk snap and turned to face him.

"What is it this time? I swear, if it is about sport I shall scream."

Harry was surprised at what must be exaggeration. Hurrying to reassure her, he said, "No, it's to do with the parcel. I was just thinking about something."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, what was it?"

Out of the corner of his eye Harry could see that Ron had quietly closed his book, but wasn't moving in an attempt to stay off Hermione's radar.

"Well, you know how you can collapse camera tripods so the legs sort of slide into themselves?"

"Harry, what on earth-"

"I was just wondering if Merlin's staff of the rod of Talky-Iber could be collapsed like that."

Hermione was sounding even more exasperated now. "First of all, it is the rod of Taukney-Iber, and secondly, no."

"But, why not? It would make sense- more portable, you know."

She heaved a sigh, and said slowly, "Harry, they can't be collapsed that. It is a very muggle idea, and it would ruin the integrity of the magical object."

Harry, very quietly, said a small, "oh". He opened his book again, and scanned the page on snuff-boxes just in case before flipping over to read about vanishing cabinets.


	7. Chapter 7

Monday was generally a little harder than the other days of the week, because the children were either exhausted from staying up too late on Sunday, or just couldn't focus. However, this day seemed to be worse than usual.

Until lunchtime, everything had been going well, but walking into the meal one of his sixth-years fainted. Severus had been walking behind a group of boisterous second-year that were starting to roughhouse. He broke them up and sent them in to sit at different ends of the table when out of the corner of his eye he saw Merryn Leeds sway. She was rather delicate, a dedicated transfiguration student who was a favourite of Minerva. He was fond of her too, despite her mediocre potion attempts, because she was one of the few Slytherin sixth-years that had a worthwhile ambition, wanting to become an editor of the human transfiguration journal, _Betwixt Forms_. But she _was_ prone to fainting when she overworked herself, and Severus, in the lead-up to her OWLs, had been forced to place a monitoring charm on her. He had removed it at the end of the year because he had reasoned that he did not want to be alerted over the summer holidays when there would be nothing he could do to help the girl, and that she shouldn't have any cause to overwork herself again until her NEWT year.

Shoving his way through students, he managed to reach her a few moments after one of the other sixth-years caught her as she fell. After carrying her to the infirmary, his voice was hoarse from telling people to _get out of the way, you imbecile_ , and from reassuring her friends that she would be fine.

Poppy congratulated him on remembering not to levitate her, and after she had revived the girl, the two of them held a small interrogation.

Severus was standing, with his hands deliberately folded, in a way that he knew appeared imposing. Poppy was seated beside the girl on the hospital bed, and both of them were eying Miss Leeds in a way that made the girl shrink back into herself a little.

Severus began, in a way that had been practised many times. "Miss Leeds, might you care to inform me why, on my way to the Great Hall, I saw you faint?"

Poppy, not waiting for the girl to answer the somewhat rhetorical question, said, "We have informed you before what to do when you feel faint, or dizzy, or nauseous. Why did you not sit down and have a message sent to me, your housemaster, or another teacher?"

They tag-teamed Merryn Leeds until she admitted that she had just been trying to get into the Great Hall first, and had felt that she would be run over by other students if she had sat on the floor. Poppy reminded her that if one of the students had tried to levitate her to the hospital wing it would have increased her nausea upon waking, and Severus informed her that her ability with transfiguration would allow her to create a chair from a pencil or some other such thing. They then left her sitting back on the bed with a meeting with Severus written in her diary to discuss her work habits.

In Poppy's office, Severus sank into one of her cushy chairs to sip on a glass of water while Poppy scanned him to make sure that he hadn't injured his back carrying Merryn. Although he was reasonably strong from carrying around metal cauldrons, his arms had been feeling like they were about to fall off by the time he had gotten to the hospital wing.

"All fine, Severus. Just stay here for a while longer and rest."

They sat in companionable silence for five minutes or so, then Severus jumped up with a start.

"Oh, I completely forgot. Lunch. It must be over by now, and if it isn't, it will be soon."

Poppy looked at him concernedly. "You didn't have time to eat anything, did you?"

He did a tempus charm, and was annoyed to see that his class had started two minutes ago. "I didn't even get one foot into the hall. I need to go- I have third year Hufflepuff and Gryffindors. They're an absolute nightmare. Especially after lunch."

"You can have the muffin I was saving for a mid-afternoon snack, and then floo down to your office. Faster than walking, I think." She summoned a box, then handed the muffin in it to him. "Oat, pear, and apple."

"Thanks, Poppy." It was actually quite nice. He gobbled it down, then strode to the fireplace. "Tell Miss Leeds to remember to bring her study timetable when she comes to see me tomorrow. I probably won't see her again today."

* * *

Severus knew it sounded strange, but Hufflepuff and Gryffindor was an exhausting combination for potions. Third-years were a mess at the best of times, with some early bloomers towering over the rest, and petty quarrels reigning. In potions class, the more timid Hufflepuffs didn't venture anything without much encouragement of the threatening kind, and the boisterous among the Gryffindors had to be threatened to not act rashly and ruin their potion by trying to get it done as quickly as possible and following minimal instructions. This meant that he had to switch from telling them to _go ahead and actually do something_ , to _stop doing that, immediately! Do not put them in whole, the instructions say finely grated!_ The lessons were never productive, and he always found himself a lot more frustrated at the end of them.

He counted it a success that only two cauldrons exploded, one belonging to a Gryffindor that decided that roughly shredding was the same as finely dicing, and had also added bubotuber pus instead of bundimun secretion. The other was a Hufflepuff. Severus suspected that an ingredient had been thrown into the cauldron from across the classroom, as he had seen a movement out of the corner of his eye. Admittedly, the Hufflepuff whose cauldron it was happened to be particularly annoying, but that didn't excuse the danger of the action.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to tell who had thrown it, so had spent the last five minutes pacing the front of the classroom lecturing on basic cauldron safety, which they covered in first year. Just as they were about to leave, he had assigned the whole class detention with Filch, prompting a series of groans and treasonous mutterings. He had added, lightly, that if the thrower was turned in, only he or she would be punished, and left that to stew in their brains.

The next class was the seventh-years, who were a relatively good lot this year. He felt relatively secure in their abilities, and would have taken a nap at his desk if he didn't think that it would send the wrong message and undermine his fearsome demeanour. Instead he paced around the classroom and didn't say anything for the entire lesson after he had told them what potion they were brewing. Let them think that he was testing their abilities to brew completely unaided.

* * *

He decided to have something to eat before heading off to London, so retreated to his office and floo-called the kitchens. While he was waiting for them to send something up, Severus enchanted the sign on the door to change from _Office Hours Today: 4:00pm to 6:00pm_ to _Not here, go bother someone else_. He knew that if another teacher saw it he would be in trouble, but they usually floo-called his office if they wanted to speak with him. Severus also couldn't for the life of him think of anything else he could but up that would get the message across. His brain had stopped working for lack of food.

Luckily enough, the house-elves sent up an entire meal for him, with a light tomato soup and a plate of a chicken pasta salad. As soon as he had placed his cutlery down precisely, it all vanished. With a silent "Thank you," to the air, he stood up.

Swirling his cloak around his shoulders, Severus debated whether he should apparate once outside the gates, or walk to Hogsmeade and floo from there. Deciding that he would get enough fresh air wandering around wizarding London, and lamenting the fact that Hogwarts didn't allow floo connections to the outside world except under the emergency override, he barely remembered to grab his list.

Fortunately no-one accosted him on his way out, so it was with a faint _crack_ he apparated away, ten minutes later outside the gates to the castle grounds.


	8. Chapter 8

London was actually not as painful as he had thought it would be. A midnight-blue fabric had come to hand easily at the drapers, and a warm cloth for the lining was simple to find. He had celebrated his unexpected free time by looking over the haberdashery, and inspecting the more outlandish fabrics. In the end he bought a pincushion in the shape of a snake for Minerva as a joke. And charmed it red. It would make a good Christmas gift.

The button collection near the sales desk held his attention for a while as well. Apparently you could get little scottie-dog shaped buttons, though what use they would be he did not know. It was somewhat amusing to picture them all on one of his shirts, instead of the plain black ones he favoured. They were probably only the realm of eccentric dressers like Dumbledore.

 _Thinking of the old man_ —he found a corner shop and swiftly bought a small bag of chocolate coins. At least that part was out of the way. He never deliberated overly much on what the headmaster would like in his sweets, especially since Filius had told him and Minerva in an undertone that he had once asked a shopkeeper to sell him a sweet that was best generally avoided. Apparently Albus had quite enjoyed the mind-bogglingly sour rubbish and thanked Filius for getting him something different.

After that, he ducked into an alleyway and apparated to Diagon Alley, pleased with himself. Muggle stores tended to have a wider range of fabrics and other bits and pieces, which was why he never bothered to buy things for sewing in a Wizarding shop. Furthermore, he preferred to rely on his own charms and suchlike. Ever since the time that the parrots on the pattern charmed to move around had instigated a fight, leaving Dumbledore's robes looking like he was bleeding and shedding feathers, he had decided that _his_ clothes would never be in danger of shoddy workmanship.

He stifled a laugh at the memory of that episode as he ducked into the apothecary.

Finding ingredients in a shop had always been a pleasure of his, even when he hadn't the money to buy them. When he was younger, he had made a game out of it—he'd make a list of several items before entering the apothecary, then hunt them all out as quickly as he could. Severus would try to find the best specimens, of course, and it had been fun trying to find them quickly without alerting anyone that he was timing himself.

Nowadays, though, he could afford them. He was also a lot more confident in himself, and quite enjoyed telling the shopkeeper that they had been sent turnips rather than migwuggle roots. It was also rather entertaining letting the apothecary know that he would not accept the inferior specimen of murtlap.

As he exited the apothecary, he reminded himself to be on the lookout. Often, the problem with going to Diagon Alley was—

"Snape! Professor, wait!"

— the parents. _Damn._

He briefly considered whether to speed up and pretend that he hadn't heard them, but discarded the option as unfeasible. The woman who was calling and waving her arms at him was actually ahead of him, right in front of where he wanted to go.

Resignedly, he kept walking and was greeted by a couple who looked remarkably similar. Only Pureblood inbreeding could explain the Hillerwoods. Severus was pretty sure that they were first cousins.

"Professor, just who we were wanting to see," the man huffed. "How is little Georgie?"

'Little' Georgie was almost as tall as Severus himself, and was starting to grow a beard.

"He is perfectly fine, and doing well in class." _For an in-bred gorilla_ , Severus added to himself. Hillerwood wasn't exactly intelligent, a trait that was probably inherited.

"Oh, that's good," Mrs Hillerwood beamed. "I always worry so about him."

Severus couldn't say that. George Hillerwood wasn't exactly someone he thought about except when he remembered to be glad that his potions class in sixth year only took capable students.

He realised he had tuned out, and said hurriedly, "Fascinating."

Thankfully, that seemed to be the right thing to say, as the man was nodding his head rather self-righteously, and the woman paused in her chatter to smile at him. Before she could start up again, he made a show of casting _tempus._

"Well, look at the time," he said jovially. Any vaguely intelligent first-year would have picked up on the fakeness of the tone, but he had learned not to expect very much from the Hillerwoods. "I _must_ be off. _Very_ nice seeing you again." And while they were farewelling him, he strode away quickly into the door of Maximillian's, congratulating himself on such a quick escape.

Thankfully, it didn't take long to pick up the shipment of animal food for Kettleburn. Of course, it was rather tricky to get it all into his briefcase, but that was only because the bags of food were so heavy. The briefcase, which had been a joint gift from Filius, Minerva and Pomona last Christmas, had expanding and weightless charms, as well as multiple compartments. One such was used for his potion ingredients, another for his emergency kit. It was hands-down the best gift he had ever had, and invaluable to him.

However, just as he was about to leave and make his way to Griselda's Gardens, Severus was waylaid.

"Why, good afternoon, Severus," he heard.

Slowly turning around, he made sure to leave his face blank of emotions. Curse it all—of all the bad timing! Then, after a moment, he wondered just _what_ Lucius Malfoy was doing in Maximilian's Magical Creatures Emporium.

"Lucius, good day."

The taller man inclined his head at Severus, and said, "How are you, Severus?"

"Fine," Severus bit out.

"Succinct as always, my dear Narcissa would say. _I_ , however, must say that was terse and rather rude. How are you, Severus?"

Why did Lucius always have to do this? He was no longer a first year—he was an adult, and being terse was his own prerogative. But Severus supposed that he ought to play the game, because it would get him out of there quicker. Lucius Malfoy had never stood for anything less than politeness.

Heaving an inward sigh, he replied, "I am well. How kind of you to ask." He paused, then gave in to temptation. "May I ask what you are doing here?"

Lucius Malfoy tapped a finger on the top of his cane. "A little obvious, Severus, but I shall make allowances for your lack of practice at conversing during the school year. As a matter of fact, I am here about peacocks. As the owner of the store cannot seem to choose a fine replacement specimen for my garden, nor are my house-elves seemingly capable," he made a moue of distaste at the mention of such things, "I had to go myself. What a state this world is in—the things I am forced to do."

Peacocks. Of all the ostentatious things! Severus had never understood Lucius's partiality for peafowl. In fact, he had once had a run in with one of Lucius's precious albino peacocks. Unfortunately Lucius would not have taken kindly to him hexing the thing to a crisp, so he had settled for surreptitiously hitting it with an impotence curse.

He smirked, and said, "Indeed. How absolutely distressing for you, Lucius."

Lucius gave a heavy sigh at Severus's sarcasm. "The youth of today, as well—no respect."

Severus rolled his eyes. "You are only five years older than me, you know." He wanted badly to retort that the man's son was an example of a disrespectful youth, but that would mean opening the topic of Draco. As much as that might let him get away faster, it meant that the man would decide, since Severus had opened the topic, that he wasn't opposed to a longer discussion of the boy.

"Perhaps; however, your manners are those of a socially awkward eighteen-year-old. Why have you not replied to the owl I sent you?"

Severus glared at the other man. _Socially awkward eighteen-year-old?_ He took a deep breath and reminded himself that hexing Lucius would probably get Severus arrested.

"I—I have been busy." He couldn't actually remember getting an owl from Lucius. Then again, when he was in a bad mood, which was admittedly quite often, he was prone to incinerating letters unopened. He had been careful about not doing it to ones with the Hogwarts crest, but anything else was fair game.

"Of _course_ ," Lucius drawled. "You must be absolutely run off your feet. I sent it to you a little over three months ago, and have resent the letter several times."

"Really?" He blurted out. Immediately, he regretted it. Why had he said that?

"Really, Severus. If I were so inclined, I might think that you were ignoring me." To make his point, Lucius twirled his wand in his fingers. "However, I know that your duties must be quite heavy, even before Hogwarts begins in September."

Severus' cheeks tinged pink at that.

"Nothing to say for yourself? I expect an answer, by the way. It should be on my desk by Thursday. I think that you should have had enough time to consider all of it. If not, I think that I shall have to pay you a visit. And I wonder what the Board of Governors would think of your laxness."

Unfortunately, the Board of Governors was in charge of allocating funding to each subject, some of which went towards the individual professor's professional development. In 1984 there had been a huge furore over the actions of the Professor of Arithmancy of the time. The old man had been prone to falling asleep in a class that had one of the Governor's children in it. Although a later investigation found out that a sleeping potion was being added to his tea, the funding for Arithmancy had been harshly cut when the student complained.

This meant that there could be repercussions if Lucius complained about him.

"Alright," he finally grumbled. Then, though he hated to— "resend the letter though. I may have misplaced it."

"Certainly," Lucius said. "I am glad that we have come to an understanding. I shall refrain from keeping you further, then. Farewell, Severus."

Severus thought, _finally_ , and muttered, "bye," before turning and fleet-footing his way to Griselda's Gardens.


End file.
